In which Robb goes off to fight in World War II.
Roslin dashes through the crowd, pushing and shoving past people. They all shout at her, but she doesn't care. She has to see him, or else she may never get a chance to again.
Exasperated, she steps out of her heels, since they were making her trip every couple of steps. Now unrestrained, she manages to pick up her speed and she sprints through the packed airport. She holds onto her hat, which came very close to falling off several times.
"Robb!" she cries out when she spots him. He's caught in the middle of the swarm of people, about to board his plane to France. "Robb!" she calls again, this time much louder. He turns at the sound of her voice and catches her eye. A slow grin spreads on his handsome face, and she can't help but laugh out loud.
She pushes past the rest of the people, and he sets his bag down, waiting for her. After what seems like an eternity, she reaches him and he instantly takes her in his arms. She clutches onto his jacket and has no intent of letting go. "I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye," she breathes, her heart beating loudly in her ears.
"Then what was last night?" he teases, pressing a kiss to her hair. She blushes at the memory, remembering last night's escapades and activities. "I'm gonna miss you, Rosie," he murmurs against her temple, all amusement gone from his face and voice.
"Promise me you'll come back," she orders sternly, moving away from the crook of his neck to look into her eyes. "Promise me that, Robb Stark."
His cheek twitches and he shies away from her gaze. He interlaces his fingers with hers and stares at their joined hands. "Will you weep for me?"
"I won't have to," she whispers, her eyes welling up with tears. Robb leans in and kisses her passionately, his arms wrapping around her waist and bringing her closer. His beard scratches against her cheeks and chin, but she doesn't mind. She never minds.
"Wait for me."
"Of course."
He kisses her again. "I love you, Roslin Frey." And then he's off.